


The Kiss of Death.

by Glorfindel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Humour, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glorfindel/pseuds/Glorfindel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil arrives in Valinor and almost immediately travels to The Halls of Awaiting to find his soul mate Fëanor. </p><p>What will Lord Eru require of Thranduil so that he can go back home? Will he allow Fëanor to go back with him? After all, Fëanor did escape from the Halls to Middle-earth by using trickery and deceit. Now he is back there can Thranduil's love and story writing make him a free elf once again - this time legitimately? Námo is not the most positive Vala when considering questions like that.</p><p>Lord Eru requires that Thranduil write the story of his and Feanor's love, and to make it funny. How can it be so when a badly behaved wife and a court built on lies runs parallel to telling the story of how he and Fëanor finally came together? Only by reading can you find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "The Valar decide who we love."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fadesintothewest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/gifts).



> Thank you to my wonderful beta Keiliss :):):)

**Thranduil's POV**

 

Here I was in Valinor, hoping to see my soul mate, Fëanor, again. He did not meet me at the dock, so I assumed he was either still resident in Námo's Halls, or had forgotten  about me. My initial disappointment was tempered at seeing my parents again. True to form, my father, Oropher, had proclaimed himself king as soon as he was reborn, and like sheep the Wood Elves had allowed it, just as they had the first time. To be fair, my father was a good king, beloved by all. It was hard to fill his shoes, but I like to think that in the end I was just as popular. Gone were the days of war. Instead, my realm became one of peace, where happiness and harmony reigned - to a point.

 

Old habits die hard. We remained a military realm because the threat was ever present and it was how we were used to living. The major difference was that I rarely had to sit with grieving relatives, telling them how sorry I was that their son or daughter had been killed while serving in my army. Of course, accidents happen, but not as often as one would think.

 

"I have sent runners to the other realms to enquire about Fëanor," my father said, his lip slightly curling with distaste. "If I had known who he really was I would never have allowed you to take up with him. You know his family are our sworn enemies." He had no idea my lover was Fëanor when we lived in Middle-earth. He knew him as Authigil. I still have no idea who told him my lover's real identity.

 

"The Valar decide who we love."

 

My father sighed. He had not changed. Never would he forget Doriath or our flight to the Greenwood to escape the sons of Fëanor. My mother was killed during the flight, a stray arrow piercing her through the chest as we ran through the city gates. "Go!" she cried out, a cross between a gasp and a yell. "Keep Thranduil safe." My father hesitated as if torn and needing direction. Her eyes closed and her face relaxed. A hail of arrows awoke his senses. He picked me up and ran for our lives. Never would he forgive.

 

Convinced that he would one day see my mother again, my father did not engage in the pleasures of the flesh, saving himself for the day when they would be reunited in Valinor. I felt that if anyone should identify with my feelings for Fëanor he would, simply because he had experienced such intense love himself. I was not surprised at his lack of understanding, although I suspect it was wilful. However, I must admit to being disappointed.

 

When the runners returned they reported that Galadriel had gleefully informed them that Fëanor was still in the Halls of Waiting. "I doubt the Valar will ever release him," she said with a chuckle as she presided over her mirror, watching the surface intently. "It's where he belongs, after all. According to my mirror, Fëanor was reborn by using the devices of trickery and deceit, so in my opinion he deserves to stay there forever."

 

I have never liked Galadriel.

 

"I will journey to the Halls of Awaiting. Perhaps I can persuade Lord Námo to release him," I announced to my parents as we ate breakfast in the palace garden.

 

"You have only been here for five minutes and now you are off on a jaunt," my mother protested. She took a sip of her tea, looking over the cup disapprovingly at me.

 

"He only thinks of himself," my father said blithely. It was almost as if he did not care.

 

"He is my soul mate," I replied weakly, knowing my mother was right.

 

"What will happen if Lord Námo takes you to his hall and you lose your life as forfeit?" My mother stared at me, her sea-grey eyes boring through my soul and making me feel once again the little boy I was when she had died.

 

"If there is any risk of that, I will come back," I assured her.

 


	2. Then the eagles came.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has to cross the bridge to The Halls of Awaiting.

 

 

 

The Halls of Awaiting lie on the Western shores of Valinor looking out over the Encircling Sea. They are formless when one looks directly, but if one quickly looks to the side and back again they are made of solid grey stone. After many fleeting glimpses I was able to divine where the entrance lay.

 

I must have looked like an elf with a wry neck as I approached the entrance. I can imagine Námo laughing at me, perhaps inviting a few of his Valar friends to look at the elf walking like an aimless chicken. Standing on the edge of a cliff, I looked over to the Halls. A huge, ravine shaped moat separated them from the mainland.  If I relied upon my peripheral vision the stone bridge was there to cross, but if I looked down, the bridge ceased to exist. Gingerly, I tested the surface with my foot. When the bridge disappeared my foot found no surface to rest upon. Closing my eyes I could feel the bridge under my soles, and so I made a blindfold from a red linen handkerchief my mother had tucked into my pocket when I left. What I could see did not exist, but what I could not did.

 

The bridge was flat, something I was profoundly grateful for when making my way across. There was no rail, so I had to rely on putting each foot out carefully , feeling for any slipperiness or edges. Then the eagles came.

 

My heart thumped in terror as sharp scratches grazed my cheeks. Loud caws echoed through the air and I was knocked across the bridge by what I assume was a wing. I lay on my front, hoping for the creatures to fly away, but it was not to be. A talon gripped around my middle and lifted me up into the air. Quickly, I tore off the handkerchief covering my eyes, to see nothing but blue-green water underneath.

 

The talon around my middle let go and I fell, yelling all the way down to the sea. My body slammed onto the surface of the water. Another eagle swooped down and its great talons circled my body, carrying me high into the air again. I yelled in fear, consumed with terror. My body was far below, unmoving and floating face down on the water.

 

 

 


	3. Lord Eru loves a good laugh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Námo tells Thranduil the conditions of release for him and Fëanor.

 

 

 

"Technically, I cannot keep you here because your name is not on the list of elves due to die today or any time soon, but I can ensure that you go back without fulfilling your quest," Nàmo said to me as I sat cross-legged on thin air. All around was nothing, just a vast clear whiteness in which there was no end.

 

"So I am not dead?" My heart lifted for a moment.

 

"Well of course you are," Námo replied, trying not to smirk. "Your body was smashed when it hit the sea."

 

"So if you cannot keep me here, where will I go now I am dead?"

 

Námo shook his head, as if a small child was trying his patience. "All who enter these Halls are dead, which is why Lord Manwë's eagles killed you; they adore consistency. If you survive, you will be re-embodied." He stared at me, black fathomless eyes reaching into my very being, so I could feel his ice cold frostiness and fiery heat at the same time. His palms faced downwards and a desk appeared, floating in the air. On the flat wood lay a sheet of calfskin parchment, just below a well filled with red ink. A quill pen formed in my hand. "Write the story of Fëanor and yourself. If it amuses Lord Eru he will grant you both a life to live again. If you fail you will both stay here. You will be reborn in time, but Fëanor will not be so lucky." A chair formed under me and I found myself sitting at the desk.

 

"What will happen to him?" I asked, fearing to hear the reply.

 

"He will stay here until the world ends. He escaped by trickery and deceit, so it is no less than he deserves." Námo smiled broadly. It was probably the only smile he had ever cracked in his existence. There were no laughter lines around his eyes; even the creasing of the skin looked uncertain. "Write the truth, no matter how offensive you think I will find it. Remember, it has to be candid and somewhat amusing, or else all will be lost. Lord Eru loves a good laugh." A table materialised with a jug of fluid that looked like cloudy lemonade. A glass sat beside it. Námo pushed the table and it floated to my side before stopping dead. A large, double ended glass filled with sand sat behind the jug. The sand was already running through the narrow neck.

 

I took the quill and began to write.

 

 


	4. "You presume too much," my father said.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil writes about the relationship he has with his wife. Meanwhile, a prisoner is brought back to the court.

 

 

"I wish I had never married you," my wife said over breakfast. She was cutting a large sausage into small chunks.

 

"The feeling is mutual," I replied, smiling so my courtiers would not guess that we were arguing. She smiled back, compounding the lie that we were an affectionate couple.

 

Such deception was necessary. When my father had proclaimed himself king he agreed that I should marry one of the daughters of the ruling lords of the forest. There would be discord, even after so many years, if our match was less than harmonious.

 

I was not even consulted about marrying her. Apparently she was sort of informed. According to her, she muttered sulkily to her father that I was passably fair and he took that to mean she was agreeable to the match.

 

I am more than passably fair. In fact, I was more handsome than any of the other elves in the forest and she knew it. To be fair, my wife was also far from ugly, even though she had the temperament of a petulant goblin.

 

My father exhibited an overwhelming lack of sympathy. He thought my wife was adorable. Indeed she was to everyone else; she saved her venom for me, simply because I was the person she had to spend time with. I was often accused of gazing too fondly at our male courtiers, which was true, and, in a way, it was also at the crux of why we did not get along. She had loved another, an elf her father knew nothing about, and I preferred males, although, unlike her, I never had another in my bed. That she had been married off without her consent was somehow my fault, even though I had endured the same fate. My only lever was that I knew the identity of her former secret lover and she knew it. There was only so far she could go, or so I thought.

 

My father used to regularly inspect the cave system he was having carved out of a huge mountain in the north of the Greenwood. I thought he was wasting his time but he said that one day we might be glad of such a place as a refuge. The morning of my breakfast exchange of words with my wife, he returned from one of his forays. With him was a prisoner.  

 

"We found him skulking around the caves," my father sighed. "Apparently, he can work metal and gemstones. He showed me this knife, which is of such quality he could not have made it. Looking at how filthy and unkempt he is, it's probably stolen."

 

The prisoner glared with piercingly bright blue eyes. "I made it," he hissed, outrage written all over his face. In spite of the chains binding him he stood with an air of proud nobility, defying us to disagree.

 

My father handed the blade to me. It was exquisite. The metal was chased with designs so fine that only one of the great smiths from ages past could have created it. The gemstones sparkled with an internal brightness in the dying evening light, something that ordinary ones could never do.

 

"There is a way to prove it," I said. My father grinned, he knew what I was about to propose. I spoke to the prisoner. "The servants will take you to a forge, where there will be a selection of precious metals and stones. Craft something beautiful, something that no other smith in Middle-earth can make."

 

The prisoner smirked, disconcerting me somewhat. "What will happen when I present you with such an item? Will you chain me to the forge, forever to make beautiful things while languishing in the dark?"

 

"You presume too much," my father said. "You have yet to prove you can make anything."

 

"If I fail?"

 

My father laughed, his face lit up in a cruel sneer. "I will have you killed." He turned to the guards. "Watch over him until he is finished. Do not allow him to sleep until the piece is in my hands."

 

Some might say that my father was harsh, but in those times such measures were necessary. War was still raging in Middle-earth, the salad days of peace not arriving until after Sauron was defeated.

 

 

 


	5. I could look but not touch. That was good enough for me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is impressed with the prisoner's skill at working metal. Someone has glued Merilin's wardrobe doors shut.

 

 

 

I lay in bed that night with my wife who kept pestering me for details about the prisoner.

 

"He has the bluest eyes I have ever seen. He has raven black hair..."

 

"You want to stick your willy up his arse," she interrupted in a sing-song voice, thinking she was being terribly amusing.

 

"It would be better than sticking my willy in you," I replied.

 

"As if I would let you."  She rolled over to face me. "Your father keeps asking when we will have a child, not that it is any of his business. Apparently, we have been married so long that we should have a whole army of little ones by now." She scratched inside one nostril and then wiped her finger on my side of the sheet, leaving a pale green stain.

 

As if blessed by the Valar of good fortune, or fortuitous occasion, I did a revenge fart and swiftly waved the covers up and down. Her foot kicked me so hard in the shin that I held onto it with my hands.

 

"How is it that every single wood-elf in creation is more refined than you?" I gasped. I rolled her over and let my body weight pin her to the mattress.

 

"Get off me, you fat lump," she squeaked before cackling with laughter. "You're crap at fighting. I don't know how you survive going into battle. I bet you hide behind a tree pissing your leggings until it is all over." She cackled gleefully.

 

She was wrong. I was not crap at fighting. I was one of the best at hand to hand combat. No one would believe that one so 'delicately beautiful', as my father described her, could say such untrue things.

 

"I am going for a walk." After putting on a house robe and my favourite red leather slippers I walked out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

 

"Good! Peace at last," she shouted. "Don't bother coming back."

 

There had to be some acceptable way of seperating that was amenable to everyone. The year before she had tried to end my life. I know it was her, even though she denied it. She swore blind, amid many 'caring' tears that she had caught a large spider standing on my face with its fangs dripping poison into my ear. Apparently, she swept it away with her hand just before it bit me. My father was in awe of her bravery and congratulated me on having such a loyal wife. When I told him the windows were shut he said I had to be mistaken, there was no other way a spider the size of a dinner plate could enter the bedroom. When I persisted and said that I thought she had tried to kill me he more or less called me a liar.

 

The only reason my wife had to put on such an act was that she did not drip enough poison in my ear to kill me because I awoke in screaming agony. The healer who treated me confirmed that not enough was present to kill me, although he had never heard of a spider dripping poison into an ear without wanting to bite a huge chunk out of it at the same time. I accused her and she still denied it; however, I noticed that she was very careful afterwards, probably to allay my suspicions. However, a year had passed and now she was just as bad as she used to be. 

 

I went down to the lower levels of the palace, just above the dungeons, to the forges. The guards stood at the one nearest to the door watching the prisoner working a metal blade.

 

" Prince Thranduil," one of the guards shouted. They stood to attention but the prisoner carried on working. One of the guards went to hit him for the disrespect he showed by not acknowledging my presence but I stopped him.

 

"He might not realise that he should stop working. After all, we did say he had to continue working until he was finished."  I stepped over to the prisoner. "Remarkable," I said softly as I watched him carving the tracery along the blade.

 

"It looks like he did make the original dagger." The guard beside me looked approvingly. "Our weapons would be second to none if he made them for us."

 

"Rest now," I said to the elf, placing my hand upon his arm. The slight tingling in my fingers confused me, and I saw that he felt it too.

 

"King Oropher said that I was to carry on until I finished." The prisoner looked sullenly at me. "I have no wish to die." He turned his attention back to the blade.

 

"You are tired. If my father saw the quality of this unfinished blade he would agree that you did make the one he confiscated from you."

 

"I cannot take the risk. King Oropher asked me to craft something beautiful, and this is not. Not yet anyway."

 

I shook my head and left. It was obvious that the prisoner was too scared to take advantage of any offer of respite. I went back to my rooms and settled down beside my wife, who was snoring loudly. For fun I whispered the name of her lover in her ear, "My darling, wake up. I am back." She woke up with such indecent haste that I was tempted to query whether she was really asleep or not.

 

"Gil?"

 

"What?" I opened my eyes, sleepily, to maintain the deception.

 

"Oh, nothing." She turned over and went back to sleep.

 

I still find it hard to believe that my wife had been Gil-Galad's lover, but there it was. They were crazy about one another, and it was a constant source of amusement for my father that I got her as my wife, thus ruling him out of ever having her again. He and Gil-galad were not the best of friends. She couldn't even complain to her father, because he hated Gil as well. Apparently he once stole a fish off him, or something just as trivial. Her family never forgot a slight, whether it was real or not.

 

The next morning my wife lost her temper, for a change. "Thranduil, my wardrobe won't open and my shoes are glued to the floor."

 

"Really? See you at breakfast."

 

I heard her yells all the way down the corridor.

 

My father came in about ten minutes afterwards. "Thranduil, some foul fiend has glued your wife's..."

 

"I know all about it," I told him. "In fact, I have ordered a breakfast to be sent to our rooms."

 

"I wonder if that prisoner..."

 

"I went to check on him last night. He has crafted the most exquisite blade. I told him to sleep but he preferred to carry on."

 

"Well someone did it!"

 

"Unless someone entered our bedroom while I was unaware it would have to be me who put the glue there. She probably did it herself."

 

My father sighed. "Merilin is sweetly pretty. She is too refined and would never do anything like that."

 

"Of course she would. You have no idea what she is like."

 

"Perhaps it is good that I do not." My father glared at me. "If she is that awful then you must share some of the blame for making her so."

 

I stormed back to my bedroom and tore the doors off her wardrobe. "Happy now?"

 

"Well no, actually. You have destroyed a perfectly good piece of furniture. I bet that new prisoner is responsible for this. You probably set him up to do it." So that was her game.

 

"Good luck with pursuing your theory. My father wondered the same thing and it has already been disproved. You did it yourself."

 

"You did it," she accused.

 

"What?" I roared.

 

"Your father will believe you did it. All I have to do is say that I saw you." She smirked before taking a dress out of the wardrobe. I took hold of it and tore it to bits. "I have other dresses."

 

I grabbed the contents of her wardrobes and cupboards and threw them out of the window. All she had on was a housecoat. "Now you really do have something to tell him," I said with a smirk before walking out of the room.

 

The kitchen waiters were bringing a trolley of breakfast food to my room. "My wife has changed her mind," I said pleasantly. "You know what princesses are like." They smiled, before turning the trolley round and pushing it back to where they came from.

 

Out of curiosity, and not because I fancied the pants off my father's prisoner at all, I went to the forge. "Prince Thranduil," one of the guards barked. My father was already there so the guards were already standing ramrod straight and fawning all over him.

 

"Ah, Thranduil. Look at this fine work." My father handed the blade to me. "Who would have thought to carve a design into the blade to act as a wick, thus encouraging bleeding?" His eyes glittered as they always did when he held new weapons.

 

"It is beautiful, and ingenious." I let the blade rest against my palm. The weight felt perfect, the balance just right for accurate throwing. "It is a work of art, as if Aulë himself had made it."

 

"Thank you," the elf said. "I learned from one who was taught by the Lord Aulë."

 

My father's eyes lit up. "Who was that?"

 

"One whose name is so lost in history and the minds of elves that even I cannot properly recall him. I have not remembered all from my first life."

 

"You are reborn?"

 

The elf nodded. He stared straight into my father's face. "I am an artisan, more skilled than any other in the craft of working metals and precious gems. I have no idea how I came to be in your caves, but perhaps it is fortunate that I was there. Maybe the Valar decided that I should make beautiful creations again, and for one who would truly appreciate them."

 

"Perhaps you have lost your memory because you had a knock on the head?" My father looked hopeful. If the elf agreed he could offer him employment and not have him continually watched just in case he was plotting the downfall of the realm. I could see him looking forward to sharing in the beauty of the smith's creations, no doubt visualising himself taunting Gil-galad with them the next time they met. I thought his greed and love of precious metals and gems must equal that of Fëanor. I could see my father starting a war over a few gems, and they wouldn't even have to be as stunning as Silmarils.

 

My father sidled up to me, something he was extremely good at. "I can see the way you are looking at him. Remember you are married. I will not tolerate any affairs."

 

"What are you going to do? Kill me?"

 

"No. I will kill him." My father swept away with half the warriors behind him. "Remember my words, Thranduil," he called as he went.

 

I could look but not touch. That was good enough for me. "Unchain him," I ordered.

 

"Thank you," the elf said. He took a long strip of metal and put the end in the furnace. "Were you about to ask me to make you a sword?" His eyes stripped me bare, glancing along the length of my body.

 

I grinned. "I believe I was."

 

"It will be ready in one week." He took the metal rod from the fiercely hot oven and examined it before pushing it back again. The metal glowed a dull orange, not hot enough to hammer, but nearly there.

 

"That's quick. Are you sure?"

 

"Come back then. Or, you can visit anytime to see the progress. Perhaps you would like to learn the art of sword making yourself? Those who can make their own weapons will never be without one."

 

"I made my bow," I replied, feeling inadequate.

 

The elf smiled, his eyes warm and bright. "Come back and learn. I will show you how to make a bow of metal, one that bends like the springiest of woods. You will ride into battle with a weapon more beautiful and functional than any which the enemy own. Better than any possessed by your own side even. You will know every inch and every capability of the weapon you crafted; it will become a part of you."

 

"I will," I replied softly, as if he had just asked me for a covert quickie. "What is your name?"

 

He knew I desired him. He had me in the palm of his hand. "Fëanor," he whispered, daring me to react.

 

"We need to talk," I said softly, seeing that the guard's ears had pricked up. No doubt he would be reporting the contents of our conversation to my father. I winked and he smiled. "Authigil, I will see you later because I would very much like to learn."

 

Fëanor gave me a conspiratorial smile before turning back to the white hot strip of metal.

 

 

 


	6. I did not dare to visit Fëanor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil loses his temper.

 

 

 

"You are spending far too much time with Authigil." My father sat with Merilin beside him. She looked adoringly at him.

 

"Dada, he hardly ever spends time with me anymore. How are we to have your grandchild if he will pay no attention to me? I would so dearly love to make you happy. After all, you are such a great king that you deserve some private happiness and a grandchild is not too much to wish for. I can just see our firstborn sitting on your knee."

 

"Then stop refusing me," I replied.

 

Her mouth hung open in shock. "Dada, I have never refused him. Not once have I." Then she burst into tears and clung to his arm, the salt water literally flying down her cheeks. "How can he be so cruel. You are so good hearted and so fair; if only my husband was like you."

 

My father looked embarrassed. "There, there," he said, patting her hand in a vain attempt to stop her caterwauling. "I am sure he didn't mean it." He looked at me to do something.

 

"I did mean it!" I stood up, full of anger.

 

"Thranduil, you need to stay and sort this out now," my father called as I left his apartment.

 

"I will sort this out the day you stop believing everything she says," I shouted back.

 

I did not dare to visit Fëanor. That would bring the focus of attention upon him. Even though I knew his true identity, my father did not, but that would not protect him if my wife wanted to cause trouble. Instead I sat in the gardens and watched the gardeners trimming the box hedging around the flower beds. My thoughts turned to my new friend, because that is how I thought of him. I was not bothered by who he used to be. His memory of his former life was largely missing, according to him, with only his name and his skill remaining. I do not think he would have willingly made swords for us if he knew who he really was. Although, it was odd that he fell in so quickly with my change of name for him and that he would tell his real name to no other than me. There was also the matter of my skin slightly tingling when I touched him. His tingled too. We had no explanation for it.

 

I loved to watch him work. His body was a vision of sculpted muscle covered with a light sheen of sweat as he hammered various metals, bending them to whatever shape he desired. How I wanted to hold him and join in the rough union that only two males could know. He would not be gentle and neither would I. We would fuck like warriors, hard and fast, each fighting for dominance while taking all we could from the other and giving all we could of ourselves. I sighed. Unless my wife dropped dead it could never happen. Now there was an idea.

 

 

 


	7. I heard my father swear under his breath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merilin attacks Thranduil.

 

 

 

Life carried on, as it always does. My father was beginning to suspect Merilin after her lies about me paying her no attention. He never said anything, but I noticed that he was not so ready to defend her. Even he could recognise when someone was cynically playing with his emotions. My wife's wittering about him having a grandchild seemed to be the catalyst. If anything, it made me feel easier. I found out later that he ordered his spies to report on our lives in the royal bedroom. My wife had no idea and neither did I, so she did not know to modify her behaviour.

 

A few weeks after her outburst, my father ordered us to give him a grandchild. For the first time ever he lost his temper with Merilin and threatened to feed her to the hunting dogs if she did not behave like a wife after she protested that I did not love her and was too ordinary in appearance for her to sleep with. "No one said you have to love him," he said angrily. "You are a princess by marriage, but that can change. You are no great beauty yourself."

 

Merilin fainted with shock. It was hard to tell if she did so because he shouted or because of what he said.

 

"Leave her there," my father boomed when I went to pick her up. "I am telling you Thranduil, you and Merilin will live in harmony or I will banish both of you."

 

"She will run straight to Gil-galad..."

 

"He can have her, if the dogs don't get her first." He sat down, glaring at my wife's unmoving form. "I swear Merilin, if you do not get up right now I will thrash your arse to within an inch of your life."

 

Amazingly, she chose that moment to slowly wake up, exclaiming that she could not remember why she had fainted. "Was it too hot in here?" she asked.

 

"Not now," I said quietly.

 

"Go to your rooms and start acting like a married couple. We do not always get what we want in life but we have to make the best of it. That is what separates adults from children. Both of you are too old for me to indulge you any longer."

 

We had no choice. We went back to our rooms and agreed that we would give my father a grandchild. Afterwards we would have discharged our duty and could lead separate lives. When we had sex I thought of Fëanor, only then could I pass my seed into her. My father was delighted when we presented him with the news that Merilin was pregnant and even more so when our baby was born.

 

Childbirth changed Merilin back to how she was before she became pregnant. She showed little interest in our son and announced that if I liked him so much I could have him. My father seemed to know about it straightaway and that was when I suspected we were being spied upon. He was rapidly beginning to dislike Merilin and more than once berated her for selfish behaviour.

 

Our little boy was beautiful. He looked like the pictures of me that my father had painted when I was a baby. Legolas slept in the same room as his nanny, drinking milk donated by a wet nurse because feeding her own son was beneath Merilin. I loved Legolas so much, spending as much time as I could with him. His sparkling blue eyes lit up whenever he saw me and he would kick his legs excitedly. I would take him to the forge to see Fëanor, who made him an exquisitely crafted baby bow and arrow set from mithril and black diamonds. My wife had several times demanded that I be discouraged from visiting but my father could see no harm in it and told her so. Plus he was beginning to like the deferential Authigil who made such beautiful things for him. For myself, I could take my baby son to see one whom I desired more than life itself.

 

One night, when Legolas was sleeping in my father's room, something he often did because he adored his grandfather who played with him almost non-stop when they were together, my wife attacked me.

 

I arrived in our rooms in a drunken state. Her voice seemed to be far away and all I could concentrate upon was getting to my bed without falling over. In the distance, I could hear the running of water but it never occurred to me what she might be doing. I lay on the bed and shut my eyes, the room continued to spin around and I felt the need to vomit as dizziness overcame me. I stumbled into the bathroom and felt a hard push. A shock of pain exploded through my body as I fell into the hot bath. Merilin began screaming. She ran to the door and yelled for help, before fainting with 'shock'.

 

The guards ran in and saw me trying to get out of the boiling hot bath. They poured cold water over me before carrying me on a sheet to the healing rooms.

 

I heard my wife sobbing and telling my father that I had arrived back drunk and gone to bed. She decided that as I was asleep she would get up and have a bath. She filled it with boiling water and was about to put some cold water in when I pushed her out of the way, overbalanced and fell in.

 

"I think he was going to be sick in the toilet," she whined. "I nearly fell in as well." 

 

My father came over to me. He asked the healer what my chances of living were, ignoring the fact that I was still awake.

 

"We will do our very best," the healer said, which was very diplomatic of him.

 

"Oh, please save my husband! I beseech of you," Merilin begged in her high-pitched drama queen voice.

 

I heard my father swear under his breath.

 

 

 


	8. "Are you all right?" Fëanor's face was lined with worry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merilin's plan backfires on her.

 

 

 

My father sat with me most days. He never said much, but I was hardly able to say a thing except whisper a couple of words, so it did not matter really. He told me that Merilin could not bring herself to visit when she felt so guilty about being unable to stop me from falling in the water. I could not tell whether he believed her or not.

 

"Your friend Authigil is making some surgical blades for the healers," my father told me on one of his visits. "I suggested to him that he visit you when he comes up. I have noticed that your other friends have tailed off somewhat, probably because you look so ghastly, but that cannot be helped. Little Legolas is doing well. He rolled over on his own today. It won't be long before he is crawling."

 

My heart leapt. Fëanor would be visiting me. Then it crashed down because he would see how ugly I had become. 

 

Just before Fëanor visited, my father asked the healer to make sure we were not disturbed; he wanted to talk in private. When he had checked the door for eavesdroppers, he made his way back to my bed and sat beside me.

 

"What are you going to do about Merilin? After your accident I instructed my spies to watch her closely. From their reports I believe she did indeed push you."

 

"That took a long time coming," I whispered hoarsely. "Now I am scarred and ugly you finally decide I might have been telling the truth about her."

 

"The scarring will fade in a few of months. The healer told me so. Anyway, what would you like me to do about Merilin? I believe my position as King is now secure enough to oppose her father. He will certainly protest if we take action against her, but we should anyway."

 

"Throw her and her meddling father in the dungeons," I whispered hotly. "If the other lords protest, threaten them as well."

 

"The situation is more serious than that. Remember when she said the spider dripped poison in your ear? My spies found a secret panel in your bed, on her side. There was a small phial of spider venom in there, half used. They also found handcuffs, a gag and foot ties. Are you into that sort of thing by any chance?"

 

"No," I replied quickly, but not too quick that he would think I was lying, especially as I was telling the truth.

 

"They also found a device that goes in the mouth. From what we could see it holds a needle that springs forth by several inches when pressed between the teeth. A person with such a device in their mouth could kiss another and stab them in the back of the throat at the same time. The needle is quite fine, but thick enough for the mouth to fill with blood from the artery with no chance of stemming the flow."

 

"Do you believe she would try to kiss me with that in her mouth?" The thought of being killed like that filled me with horror.

 

"Yes I do, and such a tiny wound would be easy to miss. Authigil deactivated it and put it back. She needs further watching, because I want to know if Gil-galad is involved. I know they still write to one another. Every letter that comes from Lady Silmarwen of Lindon is really from him."

 

"How do you know?"

 

"You should read the letters."

 

"I have read them. They are innocent and boring. Merilin seems to enjoy them though."

 

"They are in code, which your friend Authigil solved when my spies could not. He is jolly useful. I am glad I found him skulking in the caves. In the last letter, Ereinion hinted that Merilin could one day be his queen, if only she were not married to you. If it transpires that he is feeding suggestions to your wife then I will thrash his arse until his skin is slit to ribbons. I will go to Lindon myself and do it, if I have to."

 

"Ada, I still have no idea how she knew I would go into the bathroom. Did she plan it or was the attack opportunist?"

 

"You were drunk. You always throw up in the toilet when you go back to your rooms drunk, so she was probably reasonably sure you would this time. I can hear you throwing up when I am in my bedroom."

 

"We need thicker walls."

 

Ada kissed my cheek through the dressings. "Authigil is here. I will leave you with him." He looked up and smiled. "Come, Authigil; my son needs cheering up and you are the very person to do it."

 

"Your Majesty," Fëanor said softly. "I will do my best to make your son happy."

 

My father left as Fëanor sat beside me.

 

"The scarring will go in a few months. I have seen burns like these before and the damage is temporary. Fresh new skin, softer than a baby's cheek, will grow underneath and the scars will peel off. You will be beautiful again. Not that you aren't now."

 

"I feel ugly."

 

"Not to me. Your face could look like a dog's arse and I would still desire you." Fëanor had never said such words before. My heart swelled with longing and the hope that he really meant his words.

 

"You desire me?"

 

"Well of course. You know why our fingers tingle when they touch. Two kindred souls are making contact. They want to be together. They want to be one. I looked it up in the library," Fëanor continued, his voice soft and low, as if whispering sweet nothings, "We are soul mates. So stop this uncertainty and just accept that we will be one, no matter what."

 

"If only I had met you before I was made to marry Merilin." I felt Fëanor slipping his hand into mine, which was covered in bandages. I dearly wanted his words to be true. I knew that in his former life he was traditionally our enemy and the consequences of his actions had a direct effect upon nearly every elf that lived. He changed Middle-earth forever, and his negative legacy continued even now, well after his death. Those who love can excuse and forgive anything, but even we knew not to push the limits of other elves. Fëanor would remain Authigil, otherwise life could prove to be exceedingly unpleasant and downright dangerous for him. There were too many elves who would give a tooth and an eye to get even with him, even though he was reborn.

 

"I cannot see you being married forever." I could feel him smiling.

 

"From the moment I met you I desired you, but now I desire you even more..." I even managed a smile, so light did my heart feel.

 

"I have already told you. Your appearance matters not to me. You are beautiful in my eyes, and in a few months time you will be beautiful in your eyes too. One day, we will be together."

 

"You must think me weak."

 

"You are not in control of your situation and your father has always put his rule first, above and beyond consideration for you. I believe there were good reasons for doing so, but your situation looks like it will change very soon. Nothing is forever."

 

The tingling was becoming stronger every time we touched, literally as if my soul and his were trying to jump out of our bodies and merge without us. The longing to be as one with Fëanor gnawed at my very being. We had become good friends over the past year, joking, laughing and even flirting, but he had never said words like this. He was not a coward, where I felt that I was. He said the words I longed to say.

 

Later that night, when the lights were dimmed and everyone was asleep, Merilin entered my room. I can only guess that the healer on night duty must have been asleep because my father told me that strict instructions were given about visitors not disturbing my sleep, including family members.

 

She had a strange look in her eyes, as if she was nervous. She smiled, her lips pressed together but the effect not reaching her eyes.

 

"What do you want?" I whispered. It was all I could do while trying to fool her into thinking I was not scared.

 

"I have come to see you. You are my husband, after all."  She held my hand in her paw, gripping harder as I tried to pull away. "At first, I was so horrified by your accident that I could not bear to see you, in case you thought I had something to do with it. I did not like to think of your face being so damaged."

 

"You pushed me."

 

"I tried to save you by pushing you away, but, alas, I was not strong enough. You fell in the water anyway." 

 

There was a slight movement behind Merilin. I did not need to move my eyes, so Merilin suspected nothing. An elf with black hair and steady eyes looked at me. I was sure that I had seen him before, but I could not think of his name.  He put his finger to his lips, signifying that I should not give him away. His bow was already nocked with a arrow, which he aimed at Merilin.

 

There was a lemon drink on the table by my bed. Merilin took some and immediately started to cough. Her eyes watered. "It's gone down the wrong way," she gasped. The elf behind her drew his bow, the arrow pulled all the way back with the string. He thought my life was in danger; however, I tried not to react. She was not to suspect a thing if she did try to hurt me.

 

She coughed as if choking, great hoarse rasps which bent her double, her head dipping so low I could see nothing. More to the point, the elf behind her couldn't see anything because her back was turned towards him. The coughing stopped abruptly. Merilin stood up and smiled. She put her arms around my head and kissed my cheek before moving to my lips. Her finger stroked my lips and I tasted something foul. The strength in my arms failed and I could not move. I looked at the archer. His eyes were still trained on Merilin, watching her smearing the poison on my lips and then slightly parting my upper and lower jaw. I wondered why he did nothing.  For the first time I felt afraid. No sound emitted from my mouth, even though I tried to call out. She smiled and stroked my head.

 

"Now for your kiss goodnight," she whispered. Her voice sounded strange, as if something was in her mouth. My eyes shot open in alarm. Terror assaulted all my senses. Furiously I struggled within myself, and yet not a muscle moved. Between her teeth a flash of metal gleamed in the candlelight. This was it. I was going to die.

 

Click!

 

Merilin reared back in confused horror, as if she had been betrayed. The device fell from her mouth as she yelled in distress. Her hand slammed against her mouth, trying to stem the blood, but it gushed out anyway. Wildly she stared around, as if looking for help before falling to the floor.

 

The elf who had stood behind her walked over to me, probably to see why I was not reacting. He took my hand and dropped it. It was odd, but he winked, as though he was trying to silently reassure me. He picked up Merilin and carried her from the room.

 

I wondered if he would come back, it certainly seemed that he might. Meanwhile, I was having to work at breathing; my muscles becoming cold and stiff, making them harder to move.

 

Angaráto, the healer,  ran into the room, followed by the archer, who must have told him about her touching my lips because he sniffed them and ran out of the room, returning with a brown glass bottle. A dropper inside the lid filled up with green liquid. Angaráto dripped it onto my tongue and smeared it over my lips. Then he waited.

 

It took a couple of minutes for the drug to reverse. Then I could move again and breathe without difficulty. "I thought I was going to die." I said, breathing heavily.

 

"Your breathing would have come back as soon as you became unconscious." Angaráto helped me sit up slightly so I could see better. "I am sorry, but I would not have been able to save your wife. I must admit, I have never seen someone's throat erupt with blood."

 

"She had something in her mouth," I told him.

 

Angaráto looked at the archer. "According to Prince Thranduil, his wife had something in her mouth. Did you see anything?"

 

The elf nodded. "I did not see anything. I have sent one of the guards to inform King Oropher."

 

Angaráto sighed before thanking the elf. "It is so sad. Your wife must have had a weakness in her throat just waiting to happen. Thank the Valar that she was able to be with the one she loved in her final moments." 

 

"I think my wife's death will be due to natural causes because I am obviously mistaken about something being in her mouth." I whispered. It would be better if everyone thought she died of natural causes. If the facts became known, she would go down in history as a murderer, which would have a direct effect upon Legolas. 

 

Angaráto gave a smile of relief. "I have no doubt your assessment of the situation is the correct one."

 

My father stormed into the room and took me in his arms. "I came as soon as I was told. By happy chance I was very near. Are you all right?" My father was probably loitering around outside, knowing what Merilin intended. I have never met an elf more devious than him. "What a sad day this is for all of us. The Greenwood has lost its princess. The trees will mourn, as will all the forest animals. My subjects will be bereft." He looked at Angaráto. "Could nothing have been done to save my dear daughter-in-law, who I loved as much as if she was my own child?"

 

"No, my Lord. She was beyond saving. When an artery in the back of the throat is compromised there is no chance of life continuing," Angaráto looked suitably empathetic. "It is a sad day indeed."

 

"I am beside myself with grief." Ada sighed dramatically. "Thranduil, it must be many times worse for you. I know you probably feel that life is not worth living now, but you must carry on. You owe it to yourself and little Legolas to love again. Merilin will forever remain in your heart, but at some point you will want to open it to another. Do this with my blessing." He went to kiss me and whispered. "Don't go too quickly with  Authigil. We don't want our subjects to start putting two and two together."

 

I grinned when really, considering the situation, I should not have done. The mysterious elf walked in and bowed. "Prince Thranduil, Lord Erestor at your service. I have sent for your son's friend."

 

"I do not understand." Why would the most devious elf in the whole of Middle-earth be here? I had never met him before, except as a small elfling, but his reputation was well known. My father considered himself second to Erestor with regards to deviousness and was extremely proud of the fact.

 

"Your father asked me to be your covert bodyguard and thwart any attack by your wife. He needed someone whom your wife was unlikely to know. From what we found in the secret compartment in her side of the bed we knew she would try to kill you. It was all planned. Every detail was worked out in a notebook, the timing down to the last second, the finger she would use to spread the poison, which I substituted with one that would not kill you but would give similar effects until you passed out, even the device she would use to pierce your throat. We happen to know an extremely skilled worker of metals and gemstones, who reversed the workings so her own throat was pierced instead."

 

Ada smiled. "We had to keep everything secret, even from my own spies, which is why Erestor came here. His face is relatively unknown in the Greenwood." He took my hand and his face softened. "Authigil loves you; I can see it in his eyes whenever he looks at you. I see it in your eyes too. I am sure he was more than happy to thwart Merilin."

 

"Why didn't Merilin just leave me to my life and get on with hers? She did not need to be as extreme as she was. We could have lived apart perfectly amicably. I suggested it to her more than once."

 

Erestor jumped to answer. "After you were dead she would still have the same rights of succession providing she had remained with you as your wife. She planned to kill your father as well. Legolas would have been proclaimed king and her position as ruler through him would have been secure. As a small child he could hardly argue with her."

 

"Authigil has waited long enough. I told him to stay at his forge today and not visit until I sent for him. Tongues will talk anyway, but at least no one can accuse him of taking part in the action. I have promoted him as a loyal friend and companion, who will teach you the arts of sword and jewellery making while making it quite clear that he has my protection." Ada seemed very pleased with himself. I was happy too.

 

"It would help if you gave him a title," Erestor said, just as Authigil walked into the room. My father gave him a quick précis of what had happened.

 

"Are you all right?" Fëanor's face was lined with worry.

 

"I am fine." I gave him a beaming smile to confirm it.

 

His face relaxed as he looked at the mess on the wall. "Such a waste. Those who live by the sword, die by the sword, and I should know that better than anyone." He shook his head and sighed.

 

"Supposing Merilin had put the thing in her mouth the other way around? It would have pierced my throat anyway. Wouldn't it?"

 

"No," Fëanor said quickly, tearing his eyes away from the mess on the floor. "The disc containing the needle could only have been used in one way. It wouldn't have worked the other way around simply because of the shape of the biting plate that released the needle." Fëanor did not look happy.

 

"You saved my life," I said softly.

 

"Lord Erestor told me that the device was for a traitor who threatened the ruler of his realm. I had no idea he meant your wife, simply because Lord Erestor does not belong to this realm." Fëanor looked accusingly at Erestor and my father.

 

"He does now," Ada announced happily. "I have employed him to write the histories of the Greenwood Elves. Elrond has the Elven Chronicles, so we will have something similar." I would have to watch Erestor, he was indeed deceit personified. He had saved my life and there was every indication that I should trust him, but something urged me to caution. I was absolutely certain that the writing of the histories was not the real reason he was here. It was pointless asking my father, he would not tell me; he was as bad as Erestor.

 

In spite of everything, I felt ugly and raw. Fëanor accompanied me when I left the healing rooms for Merilin's funeral. The crowd gasped when they saw me.

 

"Look straight ahead," Fëanor said as the crowds stared at the scars on my face. My father had made him my companion and helper, thus he spent most of the morning helping me to get ready. Every day, Fëanor assured me of his love. We were soul mates and so we were lost to each other before we even started.

 

Merilin's parents had not seen my burns before. Their glares turned to expressions of shock. Her mother's mouth hung open until her husband told her to close it. Through the funeral they kept glancing at me. I ignored them.

 

My father gave Merilin a good send off. He gave a speech that reduced the mourners into floods of tears, extolling her virtues and making much of her husband and child being bereft. Her parents seemed to appreciate his sentiments, their anger dissipating as he spoke.

 

"He's damnably good at swaying the crowd," Fëanor said admiringly.

 

"That's how he got to be king."

 


	9. Legolas ran into the room and told me that he had spent the morning stamping on ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Fëanor become closer.

Time moved on. When I went back to my rooms Fëanor came with me, sleeping in my bed and holding me close for when things became too much, especially as I frequently wondered if I would ever be normal again. Eventually the scars began to fade and my skin became more pliable.

 

Sometimes Fëanor would seem faraway in memory and the grief would suddenly surge up as if from nowhere. He would hold me close as he told me about his son, Amras, who was accidentally burnt when his father set fire to the ships at Losgar. "I should feel equally as bad about the deaths of all my sons, but he is the one I grieve for the most. I ordered the ships to be burnt and unwittingly killed my youngest son. He was so young." Then he would apologise, saying that I had an equal grief of my own. I wondered if there was a divine link in all of this, that the Valar might be trying to teach Fëanor a lesson, or torture him with guilt about past deeds.

 

About a year after the death of Merilin, my little Legolas ran into the room and told me that he had spent the morning stamping on ants. I took him in my arms and swung him around.

 

"Ada, you didn't say, 'Oh my legs' when picking me up." He looked at Fëanor and beamed. "Uncle Authigil, I think Ada is nearly all better."

 

"I think he is too," Fëanor said taking Legolas from me. "What have you been doing today."

 

"I been treading on ants and squishing them!" He howled with laughter, because everything was amusing to Legolas back then.

 

"Grandada took me into the forest this morning, and we cut down a tree so he could make me a bow and some arrows, and then I can shoot things and kill them. I am going to shoot ants with my bow and arrows," Legolas shouted excitedly. "Let me get down so I can see if he has made it yet."

 

"It takes many hours of carving to make a bow," I told him, laughing at his impatience as Fëanor put him down.

 

"I will go and tell him to hurry up and carve quicker." Legolas ran out of the room, shouting to his grandada in the next apartment to let him in.

 

When the door opened we heard him ask if the bow was ready yet. "Come in. You can watch me carve it for when you have to do the same for your little grandson." The door shut behind them and we were left in silence.

 

I turned to Fëanor. "I think I am fully healed. Legolas was right. I have felt no pain in my joints for a couple of days now."

 

"Your skin is scar free and has been for the past two weeks. I was waiting for you to make your move, simply because your joints continued to hurt. I would not hurry you, not when we have the rest of our lives." He grinned and kissed me on the lips.

 

I pulled my leggings down and there was my cock, fresh as a daisy and as hard as an arrow's shaft for the first time since the accident. I looked at Fëanor, knowing this was the moment.

 

He said nothing. Taking me in his arms, he kissed my lips. His hands caressed down my body, not as they would when applying creams and salves, but differently, with less gentleness. His were the hands of a lover, and I had never felt anything like it. My only experience of sex had been with my wife.

 

I was like a virgin. Everything I had once known was nothing compared to what I was feeling now. Fëanor's tongue traced a defined line across the back of my neck, extending down the length of my spine. He held onto my hips as his tongue slid in-between my cheeks. Such feelings coursed through my body. I had never felt anything like it. Fëanor touched me as a lover, completely different to anything he had done before.

 

My breathing quickened and I held onto the bedpost for support. A delicious tingling made the fine hairs on my arms stand up to attention. "I've gone all cold." Fëanor laughed and carried on. His tongue slid into my most private of entrances. "That feels strange."

 

Fëanor stopped. "You have never done this before. Have you?"

 

"No." I actually felt inadequate having to answer such a question.

 

"I think a lot of what I am going to do will feel strange. Just relax and let it happen. If you want me to stop just say." His tongue traced a line along my crack and then resumed its relentless pushing into my arse.

 

"I hope I don't fart."

 

Fëanor was helpless. "I hope you don't as well. I don't want my tongue blown off."

 

We sat laughing like naughty elflings. After a few seconds, while Fëanor was still giggling, I reached out to him and kissed his lips. I had kissed him many times before, but now we would be going further.

 

"I promise not to make any more jokes." I sat on the bed, the pillow in my back, and took the rest of my clothes off. The I laid back and watched him.

 

Fëanor looked at me, love and lust in his eyes. He took his clothes off, slowly and carefully, watching me the whole time. I had seen him hard before, but never had he let me touch him until I was ready to give equal pleasure. He knelt on the bed and moved nearer, his warm scent drowning me, invading my senses and filling my soul with a longing that was almost painful.

 

"I love you." I had told Fëanor so many times before, but this time it had even more meaning.

 

"I love you." He seemed almost shy as he said it.

 

I had not realised until then that I was holding my breath. Fighting away the nerves, because I had no experience of what we were going to do, I laid against my love and revelled in his arms closing around my body.

 

Lord Námo, I am not going to write the details of our lovemaking; some things have to remain private, after all. I am happy to give a summary though.

 

Fëanor made love to me and taught me a love that is unselfish. I wanted to please him and he wanted to do so for me. Such emotion, raw and tender, possessed our bodies as we enjoyed each other. Holding onto him for dear life, I felt such bare longing and need that I thought I would die of sheer pleasure and ecstasy. Fëanor sated my desire and left me wanting more, much more. He showed me just how good the union of two elves could be. I was fulfilled in every way imaginable, and so was the one I loved.

 

Fëanor was the love of my life and he still is. Without him life has been but a pale shadow of what it should be. Our joy was short-lived, however. By the time Legolas was nearing adulthood, Fëanor was dead, killed along with my father in the Battle of Dagorlad. I went home grieving with a heavy heart, not wanting to live anymore, but knowing my position of king meant that I had to bring my subjects into a new age, which I did.

 

Lord Námo, you say that Fëanor escaped the Halls through trickery and deceit, but I ask you to let him live with me as my soul mate. If not I will be forever bereft because nothing in my life will matter anymore. If I cannot see him again, I might as well stay here in the Halls nursing the aching, empty void in my heart forever more. I am aching with grief and so tired of feeling nothing except a gnawing loss where there should be love. For how much longer will this continue? Do I have to be like Míriel and ask for the death of my soul? I am so weary of this loveless existence. I cannot carry on anymore and neither do I want to.


	10. I wondered if any of it had actually happened.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Thranduil be granted his dearest wish?

It seemed like no time had passed. As if a particularly real dream had taken me on a fantastic journey while my body lay quietly in bed. I wondered if any of it had actually happened. I left my bed and went into the bathroom. After pissing in the chamber pot, I went back into the bedroom.

 

"And where have you been?" Bright piercing eyes looked at me above a lazy, sybaritic smile.

 

My heart soared, as if wings of joy had set it aflight. "FËANOR!" I jumped into bed beside him and launched my body against his. We laughed and cried, nothing could stop our effervescent delight.

 

Just as we were about to have our super-fun, sexy reunion, Lord Nàmo appeared.

 

"Lord Eru was moved by your pleadings for the life of the despicable trickster, Fëanor. You fell in love with him after his escape from the Halls, and you each bound your souls together. So moved was Lord Eru by your pleadings that Fëanor lives again. It was lucky he was moved, because your account was not as amusing as it could have been." He turned to my only one. "Lord Eru has decreed that you are to lead an exemplary life. If you do not, I will take you and there will be no return."

 

"Thank you, my Lord," Fëanor said almost humbly. I smiled. As I was about to say my thanks, Lord Nàmo dematerialised.

 

The sun was high and shone through the window creating a shaft of light across the bedroom floor. The muslin curtains waved in the soft breeze from the open window and I could feel the warmth across my back. I kissed my only one lightly on the lips and grinned.

 

"It's my turn to go on top."

 


End file.
